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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23029792">Last Stands</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryFlight/pseuds/CherryFlight'>CherryFlight</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>SWTOR: The Reflections Legacy [12]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Zakuul's Invasion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:14:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,018</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23029792</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryFlight/pseuds/CherryFlight</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Flow's last act as Jedi Battlemaster.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>SWTOR: The Reflections Legacy [12]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643305</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Last Stands</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The long robe Flow wore over his usual armored vest was stiff from lack of use and heavy.  It was certainly impressive, and very Jedi-like, and he could never tell anyone the friend who had made it for him was Imperial.  Natirru had certainly meant well, and had been happier than he was when he’d revealed he’d been named Battlemaster.  He’d clearly put a lot of work into making it.  But like all the Jedi titles he’d gained since Knight, he felt he hadn’t truly earned it.</p><p>But if there was ever a time to <em>truly</em> earn it, it was now, against seemingly impossible odds, against this massive conquering fleet bent on subduing them all.  Many Jedi - and Sith, and troops from both sides - had tried and failed.  Abric, who had led him when he lacked the strength to lead himself, was missing, lost on Marr’s flagship. He hadn’t felt his death, but he hadn’t resurfaced.  In the ensuing chaos, he had not been able to see Oberon or Natirru.  At least they weren’t completely closed off.  He had the SIS on his side.  An agent, Ardun Kothe, started slipping him information about Imperial activity against the fleet.  It lasted long enough to get the picture that all the combined ferocity of the Sith was not enough, and more importantly, what <em>they</em> had tried that had failed.  Then Kothe had informed him that his inside source dropped out of contact, saying only that the droids manning the ships were something they couldn’t have anticipated.  And Flow had heard nothing more of the conflict from the Imperial side.  He could still feel Oberon’s living presence in the Force, far away but shining bright in their bond.  But with a galaxy’s worth of ruthless invaders between them, that’s all there was.  He wished they had listened to Natirru, and allowed Rane Kovach to continue his work.</p><p>He stood from his chair, his robe heavy on his shoulders, as his Defender emerged from hyperspace.  All around him, other Jedi ships were doing the same, carrying radiant lives, powerful in the Force.  And all of them looked to him.   Somewhere out there, not far, were those eerily uniform arrowhead ships lined up in perfect, angular formation.  They were not the first Jedi fleet to try to fight them, but given their size, their losses, and their enemy, one way or another, they would be the last.</p><p>Flow gave his assembled crew a nod, trying to hide the way he shook.  Doc reached over to turn on comms.</p><p>An open line hummed faintly with ambient noise across the fleet, his image displayed on all those ships, he knew.  On his display, and beside his own on the other ships, Grand Master Satele Shan’s image appeared with a flicker as the signal stabilized.  “Master Satele, we’re about to engage.”  She had wanted this; this would be the last attempt, after all.  He’d been there via holo every time she’d delivered the grim news.  Another attempt failed.  More Jedi lost.  She had seen at last, or perhaps always seen but finally acknowledged, the depth of his exhaustion.  There was no other reason she would avoid sending him until now, until they were out of options.  He had seen her for so long as the one who had thrown him at every problem, even as he was ground to dust from the inside out.</p><p>And now there was an echo of his burden in her eyes as she inclined her head.  “Acknowledged, Battlemaster.”</p><p>“Everyone…” He fought to hide a quiver at the corner of his mouth.  “There is no such thing as real perfection.  Everything in this galaxy has its flaws.  For the sake of this galaxy, we’ll find theirs.  We have the knowledge of those before us who tried and failed, and we will not let their sacrifices be in vain.  May the Force be with us.”</p><p>“May the Force be with you,” Master Satele echoed.</p><p>It was a weak speech.  A weak speech from a weak Battlemaster.  Even though nobody said anything to that effect.  Nobody seemed to <em>feel</em> anything to that effect, to his senses.  There was only assent in a chorus of echoes.  Guardians praying for help because this was their last chance.  May the Force be with them all, lest the Force be all that remained of them.</p><p>“Let’s go.”</p><p>—–</p><p>The battle turned into a disaster, and hope could gain no purchase. At some point, he stopped watching <em>with</em> his eyes and began watching <em>through</em> them.  Like he was watching everything unfold from deep underwater.  Explosions were muffled, comm chatter was unintelligible.  An impact against his ship felt like only a brief moment of vertigo.  Lives dimmed and guttered and went dark, and each one drove him deeper, until he could hardly feel it.  Someone pulled him back, out of his chair, and as he hit the floor, everything swept back into full consciousness in a maddeningly noisy, blinding rush.  He gasped as a wave of fresh deaths tore at his mind, and Scourge grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet.</p><p>“The ship is lost,” he said.  “We must take a chance with the escape pods.  Hurry!”</p><p>Another impact rocked the ship, and Flow fell against the communications console.  The button that would call his last contact was right in front of him.</p><p>She would want to know now, from him.  Not from scouts that would find their remains days later.</p><p>Even through the fuzzy, failing hologram, Master Satele looked again as if she shared his despair before he had ever spoken.  It’s likely she felt the deaths.  But he still had to say it.  He couldn’t run from this.</p><p>“Master Satele, I’m sorry.”</p><p><em>“Come on!” </em>he heard Kira call from farther away.</p><p>“I…” Satele watched him, and again he was struck by how much he could relate to what he saw in her face.  “I failed.”</p><p>Another impact.  An explosion.  Three escape pods fired.  Scourge pulled him back with the Force and carried him along.  He did not hear or see Master Satele’s response before the display failed.</p>
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